there’s no place like home…or all around the world

There was a special luxury– and I do mean luxury– on the days when I was unemployed and when I managed an early shower and to sit and write this blog quietly at the dining room table for a couple of hours.  Rainy days offered one sort of luxury for writing, sunny and cold another, and sunny and warm and breezy still another.  I miss it.

I will not stop writing this blog.  I will not stop writing this blog.  I will not… Please don’t stop coming by to visit.  I’ll be back in the swing of this, one of these days soon.  Tonight I blocked out about an hour to write, and then realized there were two problems with our email that really had to be solved.  So instead of sitting and writing– I called Verizon.  I am not exactly a booster of Verizon but tonight I cheer the fact that I didn’t have to wait in a queue at all and reached successively– Unippi, in India and John, in Mexico.   They were both excellent.  Capitalism really, really stinks in so many ways– destroys lives and people and things we love.  But I did like reaching Unippi and John in their respective places in the world.  Each helped me a great deal.  I hope their lives are not made miserable by their work.  And that they get paid a decent wage and have health benefits for themselves and their children and clean water to drink and time away from their work too.

This is simply update.  No more, no less.  I have serious things to write about and funny things as my daughter approaches her 11th birthday.  I have things I’d like to write about my work and what I am learning not only about the world, but about myself, in this job.  And I have a need for sleep and so I say goodnight.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s